Page 17 of The Curse of Gods (The Curse of Saints #3)

Aidon had been to Colmur only once, when he was a young man. He’d been with Josie and their father, Enzo, on a diplomatic visit, and he’d been fascinated with the way the city felt sunken into the earth.

The easternmost trade center of the Midlands sat in the shadow of two large mountains at the far end of the Elsoria desert, and with its clay walls and narrow streets and bustling market that served as the heartbeat at the center of the city, it was easy to forget life outside of Colmur existed.

Or at least, it had been, back when Aidon was sixteen and his biggest concern was if he could find a way to ditch his sister to enjoy some uninterrupted revelry with a Midlands merchant who had caught his eye as they ambled through the market.

Now, though…

Now he could feel the outside world breathing down his neck, even as they wandered through the bustling streets, the clay and wooden buildings with their thatched roofs and marble domes bearing down on them like a hulking shadow.

Liam, the most inconspicuous of the three of them, had insisted on using some of their coin they were saving for Dauphine to buy them a change of attire that was more typical of the eastern region of the Midlands.

He’d muttered something about not giving that woman a single copper more than they needed to as he stalked into a small shop in a town bordering one of the desert oases.

Aidon was grateful for Liam’s insistence on a new wardrobe.

The Elsoria was typically far more temperate than the Preuve desert of Trahir.

But they’d found the air brittle and dry—as though the angered gods had sucked the moisture from the skies and were intent on taking it from their bodies as well.

The afternoon heat was also brutal, and uncharacteristic of this time of year.

The desert should be cooling, and yet it seemed the strangeness that had befallen Tala had found its way here, as well.

The soft, supple material of his cordovan vest kept him cool as best it could as the afternoons grew warmer, but Aidon still preferred the linen from home.

The britches, however, were hells. The calico fabric was rough and stiff, and he felt it chafing against his skin as he followed Will through the market, Liam tense by his side.

He had yet to get the full story from the Persi in regard to Dauphine Adair.

Not that there had been ample time for conversation.

They’d been far too tense when crossing through the Druswood, their ears straining to distinguish between the footsteps of an animal or human.

They’d stolen horses once they’d reached the farmlands, but even then, they’d kept a quick pace through the fields and desert.

There’d been no time for idle conversation. Even Aidon’s explanation of his own affinity issues had been brief—just enough for Liam to understand why they trained each morning, and why Will was so irritated that Aidon had attempted to use his fire against the Royal Guard in Maumart.

“The whole point is for me to be able to use my power in battle,” Aidon had snapped when Will had worn his patience thin.

“The whole point is for you not to fucking die.”

Will had such a… unique… way of showing he cared, Aidon had thought wryly.

Now, his friend prowled ahead, his head ducked low, and Aidon found himself drifting to Liam’s side.

“You don’t much like this woman we’re in search of,” he remarked as he scanned the market.

They’d left the wolves on the outskirts of the city, and Aidon hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on their protection since they’d entered the Druswood two weeks ago.

Their absence left him further on guard, his eyes darting from stall to stall in search of a threat.

It was a lucky thing the fashion of Colmur called for beiges and browns and tans and whites.

All the easier to spot the maroon livery of the Talan guard, should they be allowed access into the city.

Unless, of course, they were hiding in plain sight.

“An understatement,” Liam retorted. He wore his own cordovan vest, his a light brown. With his arms exposed, Aidon could make out the dark lines of a tattoo on his bicep:

Two concentric circles—the symbol of the Persi.

“Tell me about her,” he requested.

Liam slid a hand to his side, and Aidon was sure he was toying with the knife he kept strapped to his hip. “She does work with Mathias Denier.”

Aidon rolled his eyes. “Yes, I gathered that. Tell me something that will actually help me when we walk into gods know what.”

Any plan of Will’s had a tendency of being dangerous, but now…now his schemes were lined with desperation, and that made them deadly if they were not careful. Aidon couldn’t fault him for it, but he could take precautions where the Sensainos would not.

If he could keep them all alive, that would be enough.

Liam released a low sigh. “Dauphine’s main motivation is coin. She works primarily as a mercenary, but I’ve never known her to turn down an opportunity that could earn her more wealth than she deserves.”

“Is this why you detest her? Because she lacks honor and loyalty?”

Liam hesitated, chewing over his words before he said, “My parents were members of the late king’s Dyminara. The importance of honor has been instilled in me since birth. As for loyalty…”

His fist rubbed at his chest, as if he could ease the ache Aidon himself had become all too familiar with. Why was it that grief and loyalty seemed so intertwined?

“I’ve witnessed how poisonous loyalty can become,” Liam finished. “I do not know that I can fault Dauphine for being loyal only to herself. Not anymore.”

The words were quiet, and more revealing than anything Liam had given him since he’d joined their party. The Persi was reserved, but Aidon wondered if that was more due to the grief over his sister’s death—and betrayal—than anything that was indicative of his true character.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Aidon murmured. And though he meant the words, he knew they were hollow to Liam.

Grief was strange like that, all-consuming and isolating, and yet it repelled anything that tried to ease it before it had run its course.

Liam shot him a wry smile. “How does one grieve someone who has done horrible things?”

Aidon wished he knew. Maybe then he’d stop dreaming of shoving the blade in his uncle’s back.

Maybe then he could stop seeing visions of Peter, his uncle’s Second and Aidon’s lifelong friend, dead on the throne room floor by Aya’s hand.

Maybe then Josie wouldn’t be haunted by the love she once held for Viviane.

If they could grieve cleanly, without wondering if those who had betrayed them deserved what befell them, maybe they could finally let go.

“Let me know if you figure it out,” Aidon finally replied.

Liam huffed a weak laugh but said nothing further, and perhaps that was for the best, because soon they were walking up to a two-story clay building with wood-rimmed windows.

There was nothing distinguished about it save for the marble roof that marked it as one of the finer establishments in the market.

That, and the moans coming from the open windows certainly set it apart.

“Are you sure about this?” Aidon asked Liam as Will shouldered his way through the wooden door of the brothel.

“Not in the slightest,” Liam confessed. But he nodded toward the entryway regardless. “After you, Your Majesty.”

***

Aidon had visited enough pleasure houses to know that the one they stepped into now was one of the finest in Colmur, with its marble floor and plush seating and gossamer curtains.

An intentional choice.

The finer the brothel, the more discreet. People paid well for silence, Aidon had learned, and while the brothels were an ordinary pastime in most cities, it did not stop patrons from wanting discretion regarding other illicit activities.

Aidon glanced around the reception area.

It was deceptively open and airy: a circular space with a fountain in the middle and large marble columns that stretched toward the domed ceiling.

A skylight sat in the center of it, and between that and the obscured glass windows and white gossamer curtains, one could almost forget they were in a den of secrets at all.

“Nice,” Liam noted as he swiped a glass of wine from an attendant who appeared beside them. Aidon followed suit. The beverage was crisp and sweet, and it was almost enough to loosen the knot of tension that had formed between his shoulder blades as he stepped further into the room.

The soft trickle of water from the fountain mixed with the murmurs of the patrons and courtesans scattered throughout. Some lounged on the chaises, others on floor cushions of deep plums and browns and reds, all playing at courting before beginning their more private affairs in secluded rooms.

Aidon feigned interest as he made his way around the room, careful to hold a stare or two, all while keeping Liam and Will in his peripheral.

How long had it been since he felt any true interest in pursuing something more than a distraction or release?

Of course, he’d felt something for Aya. But now Aidon could admit he’d tangled love and duty. He’d known it even then, hadn’t he? It was why he’d chosen himself for once in his godsdamned life.

There had also been a hint of the possibility of something with Tova, a spark he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, but that possibility was snuffed out as quick as any ordinary flame.

Perhaps he wasn’t made for love. He almost laughed as the thought flickered across his mind. What a cliché he was, musing on such things while seeking out a courtesan in a brothel. If Clyde and Lucas could see him now, they’d never let him live it down.

A romantic fool , Clyde used to call him.

Oh let him dream , Lucas would retort. Not quite a defense, but Aidon was grateful for it nonetheless.

Seven hells, he missed his friends. His sister. His parents. Even his general.